


Caring Godfather and Bruising nigtmares

by Marber312



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caring godfather, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Godfather - Freeform, Harry suffers from nigtmares after the death of Cedric, Hogwarts Fifth Year, I needed to have deeper Sirius as Harry's fatherfirgure moments, Kinda, Nightmares, One Shot, Sirius there to calm and comfort him, canon compliant AU, care, deals to a degree with Harry's Mistreatment at the Dursleys, development of fatherly relationship, focus on Harry's nightmares, mentions of Harry's abuse from the Dursleys, summer after GoF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marber312/pseuds/Marber312
Summary: Harry has been left in silence all summer, suffering by his reacuring nightmares of Cedric dying and the ill-treatment of the Dursleys. He has just arrived at Grimmauld Place 12 but that doesn't make his nightmares stop. But this time he has someone who can calm him down; this time he has someone who cares.





	Caring Godfather and Bruising nigtmares

**Author's Note:**

> As I read GoF and OotF I really needed deeper, more meaningful interactions between Harry and Sirius, that boy needs a hug god d*mn it. Let the poor boy cry. So here it is. The plan is to have it somewhat Canon complient in it's time frame but detail variant.

Harry had just gotten to Grimmauld Place 12 that day after so many weeks in silence, and even though he knew more, there were much he still didn’t know. He appreciated Mrs Weasleys concern and incentive to protect him. It warmed his heart knowing she saw him as good as her own, but her protectiveness was nonetheless frustrating. He was irked for Sirius sake. Annoyed at the fact that she didn’t trust him.

The comment about Sirius believing James to be back and not seeing Harry as himself had made him uneasy. It had left him wondering if Sirius’ care for him was true. It had echoed the part of him which had always wondered if his godfather confused the love for him with the love for his best friend. Harry hoped dearly it wasnt, but Molly’s comment had hurt nonetheless as he found himself, for a short second, believing her words to be true. The hurt faded as he saw fury brew in Sirius eyes. His doubts were gone when they flickered to him as to say: don’t believe that. It told him Sirius knew him, at least well enough, to know what thoughts might have flittered in his head. Even _if_ Sirius' love for him was a bit muddled, he still cared. He was still the only adult Harry felt didn’t mollycoddle him.

Sirius was amongst the few who _knew_ all the things he’d been through. One of the few who didn’t just hear to what he said, he listened. Sirius _knew_ how hard living with the Dursleys was; how terrible it was being away from his friends and Hogwarts, and how badly Harry wanted to be anywhere but with his aunt and uncle. He knew how fearsome the not-knowing was after all that had happened. And Sirius **understood**. His godfather was the only one who understood, _all of it_. Sirius was thus the only one who fought to let Harry know things he – and he fiercely agreed – had earned the right to know. Sure, he was still young but with what he had already lived through, with what his future held - now with Voldemort back – he thought he could handle it. He appreciated Mrs Weasleys concern, but the invalidating of his capabilities and his life experience hurt; no matter how much of a child she thought he was supposed to be. Harry felt he had a right to know. There was a war coming and Voldemort wanted him dead. He _should_ get to know what was awaiting him. Young or not. Harry thought that if anything, Voldemort being back would tip the odds in his favour, not against him. He didn’t need to be protected from his scary reality. He needed the truth. He _deserved_ the truth after all the things Voldemort had done to him, after all things Voldemort had taken away from him. But Mrs Weasley refused to give him answers and started arguing with his godfather as diversion. She called Sirius names and flinging accusations because he believed Harry had a right to know. She implied he was an uncontrollable hazard, because Sirius was taking _his_ side.

Harry was still annoyed as he lay in bed. He wanted to continue talking to Ron but as they heard Mrs Weasley’s footsteps patrolling the hallway; her footsteps echoing in the dark room, he let the darkness closed around him and he found himself asleep within minutes. The exhaustion and weariness getting the best of him.

Harry opened his eyes as it felt like he was falling. He realised he hadn’t woken up as there was a hiss and a green spark of light. He realised what was happening with cold dread when he heard a thud next to him. On instinct he wanted to turn towards the sound, but he knew he’d see Cedric’s dead body; as he had done so many times before. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, telling himself to wake up. _Wake up!_

Wake up, he thought as Voldemort’s voice echoed around him. Then his skin was on fire. The burning pain felt so real the thought of it all being a dream burnt out of his mind. The sharp pain in his scar intensified. When the pain faded ever so slightly, he forced his eyes open again. He was on his knees. His mother and father were there. They were standing between him, Cedric, and Voldemort. They weren’t ghosts in a circle of gold this time, they were real; alive, just as Cedric was once more. Voldemort’s red eyes gleamed with a madman’s glee at his pain. With rising panic Harry realised his parents could only protect one of them; they could either save him or Cedric.

“Mom, Dad.” His voice came out in sobs already. “Save him, save Cedric,” he pleaded. He couldn’t bear watching him die once more. “Save him.” He begged. He couldn’t bare relive Cedric’s death yet another time. They looked at him, sad, solemn and what he wished was proud. Harry knew he was crying again but he couldn’t feel the wetness on his cheeks. The image of Cedric’s crying father flashed in his head. He couldn’t take it anymore. They needed to save Cedric. “SAVE HIM!” His body jerked as he heard the curse uttered before seeing it flash. The world slowed down. “Don’t kill him!” He tried to reach for Cedric; tried to cover him, but he was too slow, too far away. The curse struck before his parents had moved to shelter him. Cedric fell down, dead. Again. His parents soon followed. Harry was once again tied to Tom Riddle’s gravestone, his arm bleeding, unable to do anything but watch the scene play out. His parents’ death-screams echoing around him as the dementors came near, the cold creeping all the way into his bones. He was surrounded by masked faces, dementors and Voldemort’s laughter. His body was then again on fire. He felt his body shake, his head felt like it was about to explode. He knew he probably screamed but all sounds were muffled by the pain and the screams of his dying parents. Then someone was calling his name; screaming his name. It wasn’t his parent’s scared, desperate voices. It confused him. The voices - there were more than one now - sounded familiar. The hardness of the gravestone at his back, the tightness of the rope and the all-encompassing cold was fading. He forced his eyes opened to the darkness and heard Ron’s hysteric whispers.

“Sirius, what’s happening? What’s happening?” Ron questioned over and over again. Sirius seemed to ignore him. Then Harry felt it again: the shaking of his shoulders, rocking his body.

Sirius called his name. “Harry! Harry, wake up. You’re alright!” Sirius sounded scared - on the verge of hysteric - under his forced calm tone.

Harry groaned to let him know he was awake; Sirius didn’t need to shake him anymore. The cold, the emptiness, and all the hits and punches his body had taken the last weeks came back in full force. He felt so incredibly heavy. Harry wanted to close his eyes and let the darkness take him again. He didn’t want to wake up, yet he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to go back to dreaming. His nightshirt was drenched in sweat and so was his face. His face was most probably streaked with tears again. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to close his eyes and for the world to remain black. He wrapped his arms weakly around Sirius who held him impossibly tighter, still whispering, “It’s okay Harry, you’re safe. You’re fine.” It wasn’t okay. When he closed his eyes long enough, he could still see Cedric’s dead stare and the memory-ghosts of his parents; Voldemort’s red maniac eyes and the circle of masks wanting him dead. He clung tighter, sobs still shaking him. 

He calmed down, one slow breath after another. He realised Sirius was rocking them back and forth. He was lying on the floor - or more sitting up - his upper body held up in Sirius' tight embrace. He didn’t know if Sirius or Ron had dragged him out of bed when he dreamt or if he had fallen out on his own. The smell of dust and the certain tint that was all Sirius’, washed over him as his godfather held him tightly to his chest. “It’s okay, Harry. You’re okay,” His godfather continued to whisper, never stopping rocking them gently. Sirius’ voice sounded thick, as if he was trying to hold back tears.

“Harry, mate?” Ron dropped down on his knees beside them. “Are you okay?” Harry wanted to nod and tell his friend to not worry about it - he could practically hear Ron’s heart thud in his chest in fright – but he couldn’t force himself to do it. He wasn’t fine. It’ wasn’t okay at all. He relived Cedric’s death and his inability to prevent it almost nightly. He wondered if he was ever going to be fine after all he had suffered through. In the dark Ron couldn’t see his face and see that. He let the silence speak for itself. Sirius sounded less and less hysterical and frightened as he continued to mumble that Harry was okay, fingers kneading though Harry’s thick hair, pressing him close as they rocked back and forth. When the worst panic of the nightmare had worn off Harry felt heavy and he realised, he almost felt safe.

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there, held in Sirius' arms, being rocked back and forth until he croaked out: “Bad dream.” His tears had kept flowing for a good while and he wondered if they’d ever stop when he tried to wipe them away. They just continued to pour out of his eyes uncontrollably. He was happy no one could see him. He couldn’t get the tears to stop once they started even though they had slowed in their downpour.

“Was it…” Ron’s voice faded out before finishing the sentence. “You called his name. Cedric’s,” Ron finally continued after a short silence.

Harry involuntarily hiccupped and fresh tears filled his eyes. Just the mentioning of his name brought back the horror and helplessness and the feelings: the certainty of death, the fear and heart stopping despair of not knowing how to get back, how to get back alive. He was embarrassed, tired and mourning at the same time. He didn’t know what to feel, how to act or what do to do. He was brought back to the present as he had slightly faded out - his head filled with far too many memories and thoughts - when he felt something soft touch the hair at his temple. The tears renewed, but this time out of overwhelming emotion. For the first time in his life he felt cared for. He felt loved.

Sirius’ kiss to his head had been clumsy and uncertain but he had needed it. He had needed it to feel like the pain might one day fade from the fresh gaping and bleeding wound it was now. Harry didn’t know how to handle the care in the gesture. He had never been cared for like that before. He clung tighter, burying his head in Sirius' shoulder. Sirius held him tighter, his voice falling silent. Ron’s filled the emptiness. He told him he woke up to his moaning, calling out for someone; how scared he had gotten; how he had been about to run out to get someone when Sirius burst in. Sirius then filled in, in soft murmurs, that his sleep-talking had woken him up and he had rushed in when he started screaming. Neither Harry nor Ron, had to ask how Sirius had heard him from several rooms down the hall as his godfather admitted that he had been sleeping outside their door; in his Animagus form as it was more comfortable sleeping in on the floor. Sirius told them he hadn’t been able to help wanting to keep guard outside their door. The immense care of doing such a thing almost made fresh tears form in his eyes.

Sirius and Ron seemed to want to fill the air with something else than Harry’s sniffling and he was grateful. It was easier to calm down when he had something else to think about it. Sirius continued, telling him how he had tried to fight him when he tried to shake him awake. How he had just barely caught him as Harry fell from his bed in his attempt to move away. The calm tone in which Sirius spoke told him he had expected that something like that might happen. Harry didn’t like being predictable, but he was ever so grateful Sirius had known. Harry didn’t know what he’d done if Sirius hadn’t been there to calm him down. He didn’t know how to calm down on his own. He didn’t know if he could.

Sirius never stopped rocking them, not even when Harry’s tears finally stopped. Harry felt his lids growing heavy, his body growing slacker as his exhaustion caught up with him. Sirius had to lift him back into bed as Harry was too tired and out of it to stand up on his own. He was already half asleep when he felt Sirius card his fingers through his hair one more time before walking outside. He could feel Ron’s worried stare, even though it was still pitch black, and heard whispered voices outside their door but fell asleep none the less. He didn’t dream anything. A few times he was certain he felt slim fingers card through his hair. He welcomed the soothing motion as he returned to his dreamless slumber.

Harry felt drained when he woke up the next morning. He was alone in their room and he was glad for the privacy as he rubbed his tired eyes and got ready. There was a gloom in the atmosphere. The rest of the residences tried - but failed - to cover it up as Harry walked down the stairs. They were trying, for his sake, to act as if he hadn’t woken all of them in the middle of the night with his screams. Harry knew he must have. They also knew or could very much guess what had forced such screams from him. No one spoke of it. He was grateful when conversations continued as he arrived. They tried to not make a noticeable pause as he entered as all eyes turned to him. They quickly tried to hide that they could see sings from the night’s terror on his face. His best friends and the twins tried to start light-hearted conversations with him, but Harry’s heart wasn’t in it. He felt heavy and too empty to try engaging in what was happening around him. They continued on without him participating, allowing him to just sit and listen. 

He was on his way back to their room when Sirius met him; walking down the steps. “Feeling better?” he asked. Harry shrugged, he didn’t have a reply to the question. He really didn’t know. Sirius patted him on the head as he was about to start climbing the stairs. His bumps from earlier that week made themselves known and he couldn’t stop the wince. Sirius stopped abruptly mid-step, with a strange expression. Before he knew it, Harry was twirled around, and Sirius was trying to part his hair to see what made him wince.

Lupin walked by and smiled at them. “I’m sure he doesn’t have flees Pads,” Remus light tone faded as he saw Sirius expression as he continued searching without a word. Sirius must have found what he searched for as the tugging at his hair suddenly stopped. Harry’s hair parted in the general area of his bump from the window.

“I stood up under an open window.”

Sirius let out a small huff, a cross between a laugh and a scowl. Sirius' hand landed on the other side of his head as he let his hair go. Harry hissed and tried to move the pressure from his now pounding head. His bump from Dudley's hit more sensetive than the one from the window. Harry was turned to the side and a new search commended. Lupin had stopped walking and watched them closely, a frown growing on his face. Harry didn’t have the energy to argue or try to tell Sirius it was nothing, so he let him continue. He knew by the expression his godfather wore that trying to argue would do him no favours. He was going to be held in place by his hair until Sirius was done looking. He wished Sirius wouldn’t start something. Harry didn’t see the point of getting upset about his bump from the window or Dudley's punch, there was nothing to be done about it. Sirius seemed to beg to differ.

As Sirius found the other bump, he coldly inquired, “What’s this?”

Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t have to protect his cousin, but he didn’t want to know what the undertone of cold hate brewing in Sirius' voice could entail. Sirius didn’t need to get into even more trouble than he already was.

“Where did you get this?” his godfather asked again. His stern tone made Harry feel compelled to answer. His godfather didn’t lie to him, so Harry wouldn’t lie in return. His answer came out in a low whisper, but Sirius caught it anyway. “Dudley? Isn’t that your cousin?” he asked.

Harry tried to nod but Sirius was still holding his hair in a vice grip. “He freaked out when I pulled out my wand when I felt the dementors close in.” Harry left out that he had pulled it out to threaten him for taunting him for his nightmares first. Harry glanced to Lupin, waiting for his old professor to tell him there wasn’t anything to do about it now and make Sirius drop the subject, but Lupin didn’t look happy. He also looked worried, not for Harry but for the anger exuding from his best friend.

“It’s nothing,” Harry tried. He turned to get Sirius' grip off his hair. He felt the air still as the movement brushed his long mess of hair away from the side of his neck. He knew there must be something there as both Sirius and Lupin stilled and stared in disbelief when his hair moved. Harry reached up and felt, when he pressed, the tension of a bruise. Sirius stared in confused disbelief. His face flashed between disbelief, sadness and shock. The expressions slowly moulded into murder the longer he stared. For a long moment Harry couldn’t for the life of him figure out where the bruise might have come from. It dawned upon him when Lupin took a step forward as to try and calm Sirius down before he exploded. It would be approximately where Vernon had gripped him around the throat when they found him under the window. As realisation dawned upon Harry he glanced up towards to Sirius, who had seemed to have frozen in place. Sirius stared at him but the look in his eyes were distant.

“Harry, you should go get ready for some cleaning. Molly will tell you what to do,” Lupin said and with a gentle nudge to his shoulder pushed him in the general direction of the kitchen again. Sirius unfroze when he started to move. Harry knew the fear was irrational - thinking that maybe Sirius was angry he had let it happen - but he still didn’t dare to look over his shoulder as he walked off. Lupin was close behind his friend when Sirius moved, marching off. Two pairs of footsteps walked briskly into another room, echoing behind him.

Harry had barely sat down when he heard Sirius' shout echo down the hall, so loud he thought Sirius’ mother’s portrait would wake up. Harry winced at the initial hate that carried in Sirius voice, then he took in what he was saying. He couldn’t make out what Lupin, who wasn’t screaming, said back but Sirius was heard clearly throughout the house. “YOU SAW WHAT THEY’VE DONE TO HIM MOONY!”

Ron, Hermione and the rest of the occupants of the kitchen looked up towards the door. Harry absentmindedly rubbed the neck-bruise and stared into the table as he sat down. Ron and Hermione glanced his way confused with questioning eyes. Lupin answered something they couldn’t hear. They were all listening now.

“THAT’S JUST IT! HE SHOULDN’T. HE’S NOT EVER GOING BACK! **EVER!** HE’S MY GODSON! MERLIN KNOWS…” Sirius voice was greatly muffled, and they didn’t hear the end of the conversation, not even the end of Sirius’ sentence. Harry felt himself smile despite the tense situation. He never ever wanted to go back to the Dursleys and this might be his chance to not having to. All eyes were back on him. The yelling had erupted right when he got back. Harry was just about to start telling them what Sirius was so upset about when Sirius himself stormed into the room.

“Harry you’re never going back to the Durs-whatever their names are.” Harry looked up and felt warm joy blossom in his chest. Molly looked like she was about to fuzz about it. She did.

“Dumbledore told us we couldn’t keep him away from his family Sirius,” she said.

Instead of replying, Harry was yanked to his feet. His hair was once again drawn back, and Sirius turned his head to show her the finger-like bruises adorning his neck. “He’s not going back to the people who did this!” They all heard Molly gasp, but no one looked away from his bruised neck. Ron caught Harry’s eyes, silently asking him if it really was that bad and why he hadn’t told him it was. Harry looked away. He didn’t want to be pitied. He hadn’t wanted to let people know about how Privet Drive was the worst place in the world because then he couldn’t ever escape it. Then people would look at him different. They'd ask all kinds of questions and be ‘that poor boy with trouble at home ‘he didn’t want that. He was pitied enough being ‘a poor boy with no parents’. Ron’s eyes hardened with anger and another surge of care rushed through his body. Ron had never liked that family; this new piece of information didn’t do them any favours, but he didn’t look at him strangely. It was just like before, only that Ron seemed to hate the Dursleys even more; eyes set on arguing for Sirius' case. Before Molly could say anything, in horror or response, Sirius turned his focus to him.

“Is this the first time something like this has happened?” The tone in his voice told him he already knew it wasn’t.

Harry knew he should just confess: the worse he made the Dursleys seem the more likely he was to never have to go back, but against his better knowing he stated: “It’s usually not that bad.” He moved his head to let his hair cover up the patch of yellowing skin. It seemed to be enough to settle the argument. He could see how shock settled around the table as his denial had only made it seem worse, or maybe just as bad as it was – Harry had never thought about it before. Harry’s back was pressed to Sirius' chest, his arms wrapped around him protectively. He could feel his godfather’s heart hammering.

“He’s not going back, **ever**.” his godfather said. He knew Sirius held Molly’s gaze for a long while and they seemed to come to an agreement. The argument was settled and when Dumbledore later that night tried to argue that Harry had to go home the next summer, no one present in the room agreed. He, Ron, Hermione, the twins and Ginny could all hear the uproar from the kitchen. They couldn’t tell the different voices apart as they were all raised, getting their arguments into the discussion. Harry didn’t usually like being the reason for fighting but this time he didn’t mind. He wasn’t going back to the Dursleys. He was staying with his godfather. He was going to get to stay with someone who cared.


End file.
